


Three Husbands. Two Crowns. One Love.

by CygnusOlor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CygnusOlor/pseuds/CygnusOlor
Summary: Dethroned, Margaery is forced North to an unknown fate.*Pretty fluffy with some attempted humour.**All mistakes are my own, self editing is hard.*





	Three Husbands. Two Crowns. One Love.

Three Husbands. Two Crowns. One Love.

Escaping the absolute carnage that had erupted so quickly within Kings Landing; well it was nothing short of a miracle. Margaery didn’t believe for a single moment that her survival was due to some divine intervention of the Seven, the young woman had no doubt that even the Seven would have cowed in the great shadows and the blistering heat that the three mighty beasts and their silvered haired mother caused.

It was common knowledge that the Dragon Queen followed no faith and she certainly had no fear of any gods, which was made even more clear when she flew over the city and had her children so easily bring the Great Sept of Baelor to the ground, leaving nothing more than rubble and ash where it had once proudly stood.

What remained of House Lannister and their king’s guard were holed up in the great hall, when Daenerys Targaryen practically glided through the large doors with such ease and grace. Margaery had decided on standing with her family, just off to the side from where Cersei was seated beside her son, young Tommen the Boy King, who was nervously sat upon the Iron Throne.

As Daenerys approached the steps that led up to the throne; her throne, King Tommen quickly jumped to his feet. The Targaryen paused her approach and raised a slight brow at the little Lannister before her; “Are you going to fight me, boy?”

There was a tense silence throughout the hall as those watching tried not to make themselves noticed, when finally, Tommen made a move. In lieu of answering he stepped away from the throne, one he never wanted, and dropped to his knees before the Targaryen before him. Much to his mother’s horror.

“Ah another Lannister with a bit of sense between their ears, I suppose that’s your uncles influence.” Daenerys smiled confidently as she flicked a quick look over her shoulder, looking specifically at a member of her entourage, who had previous gone unnoticed amongst the various Dothraki and Unsullied, who now littered the hall.

As all eyes then moved to whomever the silver haired woman had turned her gaze to, Cersei was the first to react; “You, traitorous little imp. You’d lead this whore against your own blood?” Her chest was flushed and heaving with barely contained rage as she glared viciously at her youngest brother. 

“Tommen get off your knees, no Lannister will ever kneel before some foreign whore of a queen.” Cersei continued, looking almost ready to grab her youngest by the arm and pull him back to his feet if needed.

Margaery held her breathe as she watched her young husband ignore his overbearing mother, for what was probably the first time in his life. The young king remained on his knees with his head bowed towards the invaders, not even twitching when his mother shouted.

“Your house has falsely ruled over this land and its people for long enough, this throne is my birth-right and I’ve come to take it back. I’m also here to punish those who have so wrongfully kept it from me, but I’ll get to that later. For now, I’ll settle for a peaceful surrender. If you choose to not follow your former kings lead, I’ll take the surrender by force.” Almost as if planned a bone shaking roar echoed from outside, one that shook the great doors of the hall and had the vast majority of the remaining Lannister guards falling to their knees beside their young charge.

Cersei spun around in utter disbelief that her guard had given up arms so easily; “Cowards the lot of you.” She moved quickly, but Ser Jamie was faster and quickly captured his sister before she charged to an immediate death. He held some hope that they might get out of this alive, disgraced; yes, but alive nonetheless.

“Lord Tyrion, if you’d be so kind as to lead the guards and our new prisoners down to the cells.” Daenerys ordered, not moving an inch as several of her men moved forward to usher the captives from the hall. 

Once Cersei’s outraged cries grew quiet as she along with her family and guards were led away, the Targaryen woman moved up the stone steps her gaze never once flickering from the throne before her.

The Tyrell’s watched as the young woman slowly sat upon her seat, and although they knew it not to be possible, but as the woman settled into the throne, she seemed to grow several sizes. They of course knew their chase for power had just come to a very abrupt finish, now they were just hoping to avoid having their house slaughtered along with the lions.

Several moments passed, in which time what appeared to be the advisors or allies to this new queen followed their leader and took their places behind her. The same way the Queen’s Guard took up various positions to better protect their queen in her new home, which meant that the Tyrell’s and other nobles were herded from their viewing point, to be placed before the queen.

“Queen Margaery.” It was so softly spoken; the young Tyrell would have missed it if it wasn’t for the room being so deathly silent and her grandmother suddenly grabbing her hand in barely concealed desperation. 

And then the next thing she knew, she was grasped roughly by the upper arms, ripping her from her grandmothers hold and practically carried to stand before this Targaryen queen. Though startled, the brunette quickly tucked her chin, bowing before the new ruler of the seven kingdoms.

Margaery was praying that the legendary Targaryen madness had skipped a generation, else she was surely going to meet a painful end. 

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, I’ve heard such tales of your beauty and honeyed words. Even tamed a mad king they say.” She saw that Daenerys was smiling gently down at her, when she lifted her head to meet the dragons gaze. Margaery then watched as a sullen looking lord boldly tilted towards his queen to grumble something quietly in her ear. 

“Hmm. The Lord Commander here believes we should move this along, he is quite right of course, I have many things to sort before this day is finished.” 

The smile disappeared from the silver haired queens face as she shifted forward in her seat to stare down at the brunette. “By law I should have you executed along with your marriage house, but by some fortune a very important ally has bargained for your life. Therefore, your marriage to the false king is hereby annulled and your title of Queen is revoked along with it. And just in case you still hold any ambition for power, I’ll be removing your ladyship also.”

At that the remaining Tyrells behind cried out in outrage as they were denied yet another heir, but they were quickly silenced by the queens’ guards moving toward them. Margaery tried to swallow the lump in her throat, she knew now that whilst the Targaryen may release her family back to The Reach, she herself would not be going back with them.

“And to also prevent any further ambitiousness from House Tyrell, the crown will be taking control of The Reach and a delegate of my choosing will be stationed in High Garden.” Daenerys ignored the gasps from the crowd as she kept her eyes locked on the former queen before her, wondering if she was truly doing the right thing by sparing this woman, but a deal was a deal and she was a woman of her word. “Be thankful I don’t take your former allegiance to House Lannister as means to remove your house from the lands entirely. Take your leave now, you’ll hear from me soon enough.” 

Not even being permitted to say goodbye to her family, Margaery listened as her father and grandmother were ushered from the hall. Though Margaery could still hear her brother; Garlan calling for her even as the doors closed behind them. Breathing heavily, Margaery jerked her head towards the two soldiers that were now walking towards her, faces stern and unreadable. 

As she was swiftly escorted from the halls herself, she turned back to take a last look at the new Queen of Westeros, the woman hadn’t even bothered to watch her leave as she had already turned to talk to the sullen lord behind her.

Soon enough Margaery found herself passed from the foreign soldiers to less than gentle and certainly less tidy soldiers that were from Westeros, though they were banner less, so Margaery could only assume.

Either way she was abruptly manhandled into a windowless carriage and their bumpy journey; to who knows where, began. How the mighty do fall, from an heir to High Garden, to Queen of Kings Landing and ending as a consolation prize for some traitorous lord who had picked the winning side.

~*~

The carriage was comfier than Margaery had first thought, which she was hugely thankful for as she wasn’t permitted to leave her wooden cell on wheels for anything. Fresh air was an occasional treat when the door was briefly opened so a soldier could change her chamber pot and pass her food, well something that resembled food at least. Between the slowly chilling air and the odd order she’d overhear, she was able to determine that she was being taken north into a seemingly unforgiving winter.

When the doors opened last it was easy to see that the convoy had already passed through The Riverlands and was now venturing over the northern border. Never before had Margaery seen such beautiful death, her glimpse was quick, but the vast whiteness was easy see on the barren trees. It was seeing this that truly started the wheels turning in her mind as to which noblemen she met in her young life from the north who would bargain for her life with the Dragon Queen. 

In fact, she was sure that the only northerner of noble birth she’d come into contact with was the beautifully unhappy Lady Sansa of House Stark, but with great regret Margaery’s mind replayed the moment a raven had arrived announcing the extinction of House Stark, curtesy of House Bolton. 

Margaery shook her head aggressively, hoping to forcibly remove those thoughts as they only led her deep into a melancholy. It had been such a waste; the younger girl held such promise and had been refreshing company.

Only when the carriage was jolted to a stop did Margaery realise that she had in fact fallen into the sadness that thinking of Lady Sansa always evoked, and that time had passed her by. She also now noticed that the cold had now settled around her, so much so that she could see what little body heat she had, easily escape through her chattering teeth.

“We approach Castle Cerwyn, Captain.” 

“Castle Cerwyn?” Margaery repeated in a whisper as she desperately moved her hands along her arms, that had morphed into the skin of freshly plucked goose. 

They were further north than the young Tyrell had anticipated, and they must have been on the Kings Road, travelling for days. At that conclusion, she tried not to let her thoughts slip back to when she’d been imprisoned beneath the Sept, then too had the days slipped by without notice. Day and night, bleeding together. An awful experience to say the least, probably much worse than potentially freezing to death.

“Press on. The prisoner is to be delivered before this day’s end.” Was gruffly replied, before the roof of the carriage was hit roughly, signalling for the continuation of the journey.

~*~

In what seemed to be no time at all, the carriage came to another jolting halt.

This time there was no conversation to be overheard as almost immediately the carriage doors had been flung open, blasting its occupants with the frigid air that stole the southern native’s breath away. 

Then rough hands were eagerly reaching for her. It had happened so fast, one moment she was being manhandled and then the next she was hitting the frozen dirt of some unknown keep.

“Your Grace, we have a gift from Queen Daenerys in honour of your new alliance.” A man announced. 

Margaery wasn’t able to see what the man looked like as she was lacking the strength to raise her head, only just able to get herself huddled on her knees in vain hope of retaining some warmth.

Shivering from fright and the cold that had quickly seeped into her very bones, Margaery didn’t notice the fast approaching figure until another body was crouched beside her own. To her great relief a heavy cloak was draped over her bare shoulders, a cloak that was still carrying the body heat of its previous wearer.

“Did my order of her being brought to me unharmed get lost in translation somewhere along the way, Captain?” The female voice carried the iciness of the land in it’s almost raspy tone, a tone the young Tyrell was sure she’d heard before.

“Uh no, Your Grace. Not a finger has been laid on her, by my honour I swear it.” The Captain stumbled over himself as he tried to put a little distance between himself and harsh deep blue eyes of the woman before him, without being too obvious about being intimidated by the young queen.

“Before you threw her to the dirt, you mean. Not to mention she’s almost blue from the cold. Settle your men Captain and then make sure you come and see me after. I’ll deal with you then.” The woman didn’t wait for a reply, before she again stood to her full somewhat imposing height, gesturing for the man and his company to leave. 

The next thing the still shivering brunette knew, warm leather gloved hands were reaching gently for her own; that of which were cradled in her lap. She was then aided to stand stiffly to her thankfully covered feet; though they did nothing to stop the cold.

Braving a look around, Margaery lifted her head once she was steady on her feet. She was correct in thinking she’d been brought into a keep of sorts, as the vast walls were an obvious sign of that…what she hadn’t expected was for her vision to swim red and blue as she looked to her saviour.

Sansa.

Sure, that the blistering cold was playing tricks on her mind Margaery tried to back away, but the gloved hands held firm, even going as far as to pull the Tyrell in closer. Her mouth fluttered trying to form words, but her shock made her mute and the climate made her teeth chatter.

“My sincerest apologies Lady Margaery, please come inside and get warm.” Sansa said quietly, waving a delicate hand over her shoulder, signalling for her maids to take over; maids who rushed to do as asked. 

From there Margaery found herself losing sight of her very much alive young friend, as she was ushered into what she now knew to be Winterfell, which had clearly begun its restoration reclaiming its former glory.

~*~

Margaery found herself in a pleasantly heated room, sitting in a sallow tub of quickly cooling water. The maids that had been attending to her had disappeared with her clothes a few moments ago and had yet to return with new garments. 

The silence and solitude allowed for the recent events to catch up to her. Not knowing what to do, she found herself pulling her knees up into her chest and wrapped her arms around them and then gave in to the tears that had been trying to break loose since her judgement day.

Sad as she was for the recent events, the brunette was still able to spare a few thanks to the Seven for having allowed Sansa’s survival, but for also bringing her to a friend, when she could just have easily been given to some fat old lusty lord who wanted a trophy.

A soft knock came from the heavy doors that barred the cold from the fire heated room, the sound startling her. Assuming it was the missing maids, Margaery called for them to enter as she stood up so she could finally get out of the now cold tub.

By the time she’d registered the single footsteps, the curtain that barely hid her from view was flung aside. Shocked blue eyes landed quickly on her wet naked form, her body stilling immediately as she fell into a blank daze.

Squealing weakly and dropping back into the cold water of the tub, Margaery resumed her position to hide herself from view. Had recent events not occurred, Margaery was sure she’d handle the situation far more gracefully, but it would appear as though she’d also been stripped of her shameless confidence along with her titles.

The frantic movement brought Sansa out of her owlish gawping. She loudly cleared her throat and desperately wished the blush she could feel heating her skin wasn’t noticeable to her southern guest. “My apologies Lady Tyrell, I assumed you would be dressed by this time.”

Shocking herself, Margaery laughed humourlessly. “Surely you’ve heard that I’m no longer a lady of any kind, Little Bird.” She went to continue but was forced to pause as the red-headed Stark fiercely interrupted. “I ask that you do not call me that. And you’ll always be a lady to me.”

“Would you prefer Your Grace then? I’m curious to how that came about, I got the impression only one queen could reign in Westeros.” Margaery asked, a nasty smirk lighting upon her lips. As for why, she couldn’t say, only that her current helplessness was causing her to lash out at the only person to recently show her any kindness. Oh, how their roles had reversed. 

“I’d prefer you call me my name in private. And Queen Daenerys granted The North its independence from the crown, providing we stick to the alliance she offered. It was the northern houses that reclaimed my ancestors right to rule the north as King’s; or Queen’s in my case. The Dragon Queen didn’t protest, so it has stuck.” Sansa answered, jostling her hands together nervously, almost like she was back in King’s Landing and again meeting the prettiest woman she’d ever seen for the first time.

The peculiarity of the situation had caused a startling laugh to erupt from within Margaery; who truly hoped the younger woman didn’t think she was laughing at her. Her body moved as she laughed, causing the water to slosh within the tub which splashed freezing water up the air-dried skin, causing a sharp gasp to escape her lips.

Something about being in her old friend’s presence, had Sansa reverting to her younger more naïve self, a self who acted more on instinct; or acting without sense, as many had accused her of in the past. Thanks to Sansa’s lengthy stride she reached the edge of the tub in two simple steps and already had her hand dipping into the water before Margaery had even noticed that she’d moved towards her…resulting in another squeal but went unnoticed.

Feeling her fingers chill the moment they dipped below the water’s surface, Sansa just as quickly removed them, glaring down at the tub like it personally offended her. “By the gods, you’re sat in freezing water?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Was the quiet reply.

“You’re supposed to be getting warm, not catching your death.” Not wasting another moment the eldest Stark again removed her heavy cloak in one swift motion and held it out open in front of her, gesturing for the young Tyrell to remove herself from the water. Seeing that the woman was hesitating, Sansa impatiently shook the cloak out again. “Quickly now.”

The promise of warmth had Margaery putting her new-found modesty aside, as she hastily tried to get herself from the cold water of the tub. Forcing her trembling limbs to work with her was a challenge, but they held just enough for the brunette to step over the tubs edge and turn her back, allowing for Sansa to wrap the body heated cloak around her shivering form. She then let herself be guided by the comforting hands towards the open fire.

“Why were you just sat there? Please tell me the water wasn’t cold when they bathed you?” Seeing that Sansa was quickly coming to a boil over whatever thoughts were going through her head, she spoke up. “The water was nice and hot earlier, yes.”

“Then why...” Before Sansa could finish, the brunette answered: “I had no clothes nor any towels. I was waiting for your ladies to return.” Strangely embarrassed Margaery ducked her head, hiding her flushed cheeks within the thick fur of Sansa’s cloak. 

Taking a breath, she noticed that there was a delicate smell to it, which she imagined to be uniquely Sansa.

Bringing her head into her hands, Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose; already feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Please remain by the fire, I’ll will personal find you some clothes.”

Margaery went to protest, but the red haired queen was already sweeping from the room. Sighing tiredly, the brunette sunk further into the plush chair she was seated on, pulling the gifted cloak tighter around herself.

Sooner than Margaery has anticipated the redhead head had returned with a brief knock before she opened the door, hardly waiting for permission. Not willing to remove herself from the warmth of the fire, Margaery only turned her head to watch as Sansa stood by the pushed aside curtain and silently watched over the two young girls that were previously supposed to be looking after her guest. One carried the clothes and one moved shakily with a tray filled with meats, bread and cheese.

She continued to watch as the young girls scurried around, seemingly trying to avoid making eye contact with or moving too close to their unimpressed queen. It all made the southerner quite curious as to whether their demeanour was a usual thing or whether they had received an earful from the reigning Stark for their neglectful manner. She found it hard to imagine her sweet, innocent Sansa ever striking fear into those around her.

Though she knew that the world had not been kind to the younger woman.

Once finished the pair stood off to the side, visible to Margaery, but not looking at her as they both choose to look at the floor. A throat cleared from where she knew the redhead to be standing.

“We’re very sorry to have neglected your needs and to have neglected our duty, milady. It won’t happen again.” Margaery eyed the older looking girl as she spoke, there was not an ounce of genuine regret to be found within the girl. The younger one looked more concerned by Sansa shifting to stand beside her guests’ chairs, placing a hand on the cloak covered shoulder; though Margaery was sure she could feel the heat burning through to her skin, a pleasant burn.

“Once you leave here you are to immediately gather your belongings and head to the courtyard, there will be carriage waiting for you. A raven has already been sent to you lord father, he’ll be expecting you by morning. It would be best not to idle.” The instructions were no-nonsense, and the blank coldness in which they were delivered was oddly attractive, she could just imagine how blue Sansa’s eyes would be as she stared at the girls.

With the dismissal clear, the teary-eyed girls quickly made their way from the room, once again leaving the older women alone. 

Releasing a deep sigh, Sansa moved to take a seat on the chair opposite her guest. “Their lord father thought it would be good for them, as you can see, they are quite lacking in basic etiquette. They are horrid the pair of them, and I refuse to house them within my walls any longer.” The huff was quite charming, it brought a soft smile to Margaery’s face.

The silence drifted in as they both watched the flames of the fire flicker and dance along the hard wood.

“I thought you were dead.” It was whispered, but still it had Sansa turning her head sharply to meet the brunette’s eyes.

“Many did, for a time.” Sansa replied, leaning over slightly and placed a hesitant hand upon one of Margaery’s uncovered knees.

“Well I for one am beyond pleased to see the news was so very false. It saddened me greatly.” Margaery smiled sadly as she shyly lay one of her own hands over Sansa’s and gave it a gently squeeze. The contact had an instant effect on the redhead, whose cheeks quickly began to flush a glowing pink. 

Removing her hand slowly the queen got to her feet and dipped her head politely. “It’s getting rather late; I should let you get dressed and settle yourself. If you need anything, my chambers are just down the hall.” Not waiting for a reply, she made a quick exit, again just as swift and graceful as the last time. 

A small smile flickered upon Margaery’s lips, as she turned back to watch the flames dance in the hearth. She’d certainly missed Sansa Stark.

~*~

The sun rose swiftly, bathing the keep of Winterfell in its golden glow. It slipped in easily through the frost speckled glass window of Margaery’s room, slowly slithering up the bed until it settled over her face.

It was the gentle warmth of the winters sun that woke her from her surprisingly peaceful slumber. She hadn’t even been aware that she had fallen asleep, trying to think back Margaery found she couldn’t actually remember getting into the bed. How tired was she?

Had she been in Highgarden or may the gods forbid back in Kings Landing, then Margaery would have been up and ready for the day and would have had her handmaidens brushing out her long hair at this point. 

Instead here she was, in the north and seemingly without purpose. “Seven hells, what would Grandmother say.”

With that thought, Margaery decided against just wallowing in her bed. Dragging herself out of the many heavy furs, sadly leaving the cosy warmth behind. The air wasn’t as frigid as she had expected and neither was the floor, which she found quite odd. Shaking off her curiosity, Margaery moved over to the dresser where she had put the numerous dresses the ladies had brought in the night earlier, they were all very northern; not particularly bright in colour and had numerous layers to them, but they were quite beautiful in their simplicity. 

It was only after the brunette had stepped into one of the dresses that she realised that alone she had no hope in lacing the contraption properly herself. Just as she was about to let her frustrations get the better of her, a knock sounded quietly from her chamber door. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s Anna, milady. Her Grace has sent me.” A voice called back.

“Thank you, Sansa.” Margaery whispered to herself before calling out again. “Please come in.”

Turning to face the opening door, she watched as a timid dark-haired young woman walked in, looking around for her. “Hello. Anna, was it?” She asked.

“Ah yes, milady. Queen Sansa has assigned me to your care, and to ask if you’d like to join her for the morning meal in the main hall?” Anna asked, as she moved to stand fully in front of the young Tyrell.

Trying to ignore the hint of colour attacking her cheeks, Margaery shyly turned her back revealing the mangled laces at the back of her dress. “Would you mind? I’m not yet used to the northern styles.”

Barely containing a grin, Anna moved forward and easily began re-lacing Margaery’s dress. Once she was finished, she gently patted the brunette on her shoulder and moved away. “Shall I walk you to the main hall, milady?” 

“That would be appreciated, yes. I just need-…” The brunette stopped speaking when she saw that Anna was already holding up a cloak; Sansa’s cloak. And for the lack of other options, Margaery allowed the younger girl to drape the cloak over her shoulders. She figured the redhead wouldn’t mind, she’d gifted the southern girl the cloak twice now after all. 

“If you’re ready, milady.” Anna said gesturing to the door that she now held open.

“I am yes, thank you. And you can just call me Margaery you know, I’m a lady no longer. I might even become a maid.” Margaery joked poorly, though she supposed being a maid would give her some purpose.

“Milady, if I may be so bold, if you’re to be considered a maid, I’ll be demoted to a goat I’m sure.” Anna grinned as a startled laugh shot out of the sad looking southerner before her.

“You don’t much look like a goat to me, Anna. Thank you though, your quite kind. You might not have heard though that Queen Daenerys has stripped me of all titles and privilege, so maybe I’m the goat here.”  
Margaery gave a tight-lipped smile and moved to leave the room as Anna again gestured for her to follow.

“With all due respect Lady Margaery, the Dragon Queen has no authority in the north. Those south of the border have their queen and we have our own. And our queen, the Queen of The North has named you a Lady of Winterfell.” Anna said then ducked her head quickly having been more forthcoming with her opinion than she had intended. A firm hand landed on her arm, gave a gentle squeeze, it felt almost reassuring. “We’re going to get on just fine, Anna.” With Margaery’s grin returned, they both started their journey to the great hall.

The long corridors were far less complicated to navigate than those horrid halls of the keep in Kings Landing, and there was a warmth in halls that was quite pleasant on Margaery’s cheeks. There was also a great fewer corridors, so the walk wasn’t too long at all. 

Anna’s casual pace came to stop in front of a heavy set of doors, that two large leather armoured men opened for them. 

What the brunette expected to see wasn’t the view that greeted her. In all of Margaery’s experience large doors leading into food halls are usually filled with long tables layered with more food than is truly needed and filled with self-righteous nobles all waiting to stab the other in the back. That was not what she was seeing at this moment. Another sign that things weren’t the same in the north.

Only one moderately sized table, that appeared to fit seven, was in the centre of the hall. And the food was minimal, seemingly just enough for the tables few occupants, three to be exact. At the head of the table sat Sansa, who had immediately gotten to her feet when she saw the southerner enter. On the red heads immediate right was a smaller short haired brunette and next to her was a taller woman dressed in heavy looking armour; who looked suspiciously like Brianne of Tarth, she too had risen along with her queen.

“Lady Margaery, please join us.” Sansa greeted, gesturing to the empty chair to her left; a place of honour in most houses.

Margaery walked further into the hall, dropping her head in greeting towards the knight who was moving to the chair that Sansa had gestured to, pulling it out for her to take a seat, before returning to her own. She ignored the subtle kick that the red head had sent to the girl on her right; who had remained seated and had continued eating. 

“Thank you, Ser Brianne.” Sansa said quickly, almost kicking herself for not thinking to do it first. “I hope you slept well after your travels Lady Margaery. And please excuse my sister; Arya, she’s a barbarian.” Sansa said, slightly exasperated with the sisters’ lack of manners. 

Her words brought a shy smile upon Margaery’s face whilst she tried to hold in a chuckle as she watched the younger Stark scoff at her sisters’ insult, but a very slight giggle escaped when Arya promptly belched. 

Almost immediately Sansa flushed a delicate pink and leant towards her sister hissing at her to behave. 

Oh, how Margaery missed her siblings, back when petty arguments and a bit of playful hair pulling was the worst they had to worry about, all in the beautiful safety of High Garden.

The morning meal was a tame affair after the pleasantries and bickering was finished. Brianne made small talk and polite conversation with the former queen in an attempt to prevent anyone from seeing her red headed charge failing at subtly making eyes at her southern guest. The northern queen finally noticed that her guard was occasionally watching her and blushed brightly, before focusing back on her plate finishing off what little remained. 

Once all the plates were finished, two young servant girls appeared, one clearing the plates whilst the other went around the table and carefully poured several goblets with a steaming white liquid, which Ser Brienne politely informed their guest that it was heated goats’ milk; a northern delicacy.

Margaery watched as the redhead lifted the goblet to her ruby lips and took dainty sips of the steaming milk; the complete opposite of Arya, who was currently gulping down the contents of her own goblet. It was the younger girl’s boldness that brought forth some of Margaery’s previously lost confidence, enough so that she felt brave enough to speak her mind. 

“If I may be so bold as to ask your Grace, but why am I here?”

As she spoke, Sansa slowly lowered her goblet back to the table, whilst Arya had already started laughing without concern. Her chortling and the banging of the table made it very hard for Margaery to hear what the little brunette was saying, something about her sister and skirts. The ruckus from Arya continued until thankfully Ser Brienne moved to escort the girl from the main hall. 

“I’m truly sorry about her, she’s always been as wild as the Wolfswood.” Taking a breath, the redhead continued; “You’re here because my brother informed me of Queen Deanery’s plan to execute the Lannister’s and all connections to the Iron Throne, that includes you Lady Margaery. I refuse to allow you to meet the same fate as those creatures, not after all you did for me.”

Placing her hands flat upon the table, Sansa straightened her spine. “I feel awful for having forced you here against your will, I know how that feels, more than most. And I assure you, if I had had any other options, I wouldn’t have even considered bringing you here without your consent. She’d have shown you no mercy, Margaery.” Finishing in a pain whisper, Sansa tilted her head towards the older woman looking nervously towards her from beneath her lashes.

Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh, Margaery blindly reached for the now clenched fists of her friend, smoothing them out, so that they once again lay flat upon the table. “You saved my life, I know that much at least. I can forgive the how it came to happen, sweet girl.” Margaery opened her eyes to meet those captivating northern blues; “Besides I’m sure the Dragon Queen thought banishing me to the north was a punishment. If only she knew the joy, seeing you again so strong and free has brought me. You’re a comfort to me, Sansa. Truly.”

~*~

The days in the north seemed to pass so quickly. Before Margaery knew it, several weeks had just flown by, weeks that she had spent adjusting to the north, its people and its customs. Regrettably not a lot of that time had been spent with Sansa. The queen was quite busy after all, more so than Margaery had been during her own reign, as the younger woman was the sole ruler of the northern lands.

Anna on the other hand had been quite the blessing for the southerner. With her assistance Margaery was able to start navigating the vastness of grounds within Winterfell’s walls, eventually she was able to wander the grounds herself without having to embarrass herself by asking a nearby guard for directions. 

The freedom of the north was pleasant to say the least. 

For a short while Anna had been the only northerner that wasn’t a Stark that would willingly converse with Margaery. The servant girl has assured the brunette that the others simply didn’t know how to address her, though Margaery was sure it was more to do with it being in the people of this frozen lands nature to be suspicious of any and all foreigners, that prevented them from speaking to her. 

Margaery’s natural charm and honeyed words managed to somewhat thaw a few of the residents and guards within the walls. No conversations had been struck as of yet, but they were starting to acknowledge her presence and with less suspicion, which was beginning to make her feel a little more welcome in this strange land. 

On the days where the weather was particularly atrocious and both Anna and Sansa were kept busy, Margaery would sit in the large window in her chambers, curled up in the pillow filled space surrounded by fur blankets and cradling a heavy tome of northern history in her lap.

Today happened to be such a day, only it was about to get a little more exciting.

A figure burst through Margaery’s chamber door with a loud bang as the heavy wood hit the back wall and the momentum pushing the door closed again. Then just as quickly as the figure had appeared, it disappeared beneath the four-poster bed on the opposite side of the room to where Margaery sat gawping.

“I’m not here.” The figure said breathlessly, who Margaery now recognised to be Arya Stark, from her voice. 

“Seven hells.” Margaery gasped, whilst clutching the tome to her chest. Her breath was slowly coming back to her as quick footfalls sounded from outside her chambers, too light to be a man Margaery unconsciously thought.

Once again Margaery watched as her chamber door was flung open without warning, though she least expected it to be Queen Sansa to be behind the intrusion.

“Arya, you little sh-…Lady Margaery?!” The fury that was once upon the redhead’s face, disappeared leaving only wide eyes, a silently moving mouth and a fierce blush building upon pale cheeks. “My apologies milady, I was…never mind. My apologies once again. Please excuse me.” And then she was gone with a graceful dip of her head, softly closing the door behind her. 

Though it was the least graceful Margaery had ever seen the younger woman behave whilst being here, she couldn’t stop the fluttering in her stomach, nor could she stop herself from admiring the flush of the woman’s cheeks as she reflected back on moments that had just passed.

“She fancies you; you know.” 

Realising she had slipped a bit too deep into her mind, Margaery turned her head away from the closed door to face the youngest Stark girl, who was just now dusting herself off after having crawled out from under the bed.

“I don’t think I quite understand what you mean, Lady Stark.” Margaery replied, clearing her throat gently, whilst trying to hide her darkening cheeks behind the heavy tome.

“Pfft. I’m no lady, you can call me Arya.” The young Stark scoffed as she moved about the room, picking up various things, none of it personal to Margaery of course as she had come here with nothing of her own. 

The rummaging came to a halt once Arya came upon the plate of sweet cakes; “And I’m saying my lady sister wants to get under your skirt, you know…” Arya smirked when she stopped talking, as the southern woman squealed and fumbled with the tome in her hands.

“Seven hells, do you have any tact? Of course, I knew what you meant, I’m from High Garden.” Margaery responded through gritted teeth, her face rivalling the northern queen’s hair in glowing redness as she slammed the tome closed sharply.

“If you knew what I meant, why would you pretend otherwise?” Arya asked.

“I was giving you the opportunity to pretend this never happened.” A sigh left Margaery’s lips, bringing up a hand to massage the bridge of her nose between her fingers, trying to ward off an oncoming headache. “I see now it was pointless endeavour on my behalf.”

Arya merely shrugged and popped a piece of sweet cake into her mouth. “Eh, you’ll get used to it. So?”

“So, what?” The lighter brunette hesitantly asked as she watched the blank face of Arya Stark turn into a smirk.

“Do you want my sister under your skirts?”

“Seven hells, get out!!” The shriek Margaery unleashed was quickly followed by the tome that was launched with surprising speed and accuracy at the Stark girl; who was currently cackling her way out of the room. “That girl is beast.”

~*~

Candle-marks passed quickly with Margaery pacing the length of her chambers numerous times, mumbling about skirts, red haired queens and uncivilized little beasts.

She was mid-stride when a knock came from her chamber door, Margaery sent out a silent pray to which ever gods were listening that it wasn’t Arya Stark, returning to torment her. She took a moment to breath before calling permission to enter.

As soon as that famous Tully red hair came into view, a fierce heat attacked Margaery’s chest and was making quick progress up her neck and onto her cheeks. She took the opportunity to duck her head as she gave a quick curtsey. “Your Grace.”

“I apologise for the intrusion, I just wanted to make sure all was well. The servants say you haven’t left your chambers all day. Are you with fever milady, you appear quite flushed?” Sansa asked, moving closer to her friend looking quite concerned for the health. Sansa even went as far as reaching out and cupping the brunettes heated cheeks with her delightfully cool hands.

As lovely as the unexpected touch was, Margaery was suddenly bombarded with images of herself and Sansa wrapped up in each other, skirts ruffled and breathing laboured. It was only when Sansa had moved a hand to check her forehead that Margaery was able to form a verbal response.

“Thank you for the concern, Your Grace. I’m quite well, I’ve just been enjoying some light reading, I’m sorry to have worried you.” Margaery said, reaching up to pull the redheads hands away from her face, as she could feel the heat diminishing. 

“You know, I recall an agreement we made about being less formal with each other in private. Though I’m very pleased to hear you’re in good health, illness can be hard to overcome here in the north, especially for those unaccustomed to the cold.” The queen’s response was playful as was the small smile that was twitching at the corners of her mouth.

This new playfulness between them was a recent development, one Margaery was more then happy to partake in. She had enjoyed the younger woman’s company in Kings Landing, but this bolder more self-assured Sansa was truly captivating to be in the presence of, even more so when Margaery had all of her attention. 

“I do believe you started it.” The brunette replied, her lips curling up into that charming Tyrell smirk.

“I did not!” Sansa objected whilst laughing, her eyes shining with delight. “I actually came to see if you were feeling well enough to accompany me to this evenings meal?”

“I’d be honoured…my Queen.” Margaery replied, her smile stretching wider as Sansa gently pushed at her shoulder with a murmured rebuke for her teasing.

~*~

The evening meal was a queer affair. 

It was the usual by now for Margaery to be sat on Sansa’s left, which of course meant that she was always sitting opposite Arya…a fact that the older woman had forgotten when she had agreed to come and eat with Sansa in the main hall.

Margaery had only dared to make eye contact with the young Stark girl once and the teasing eyebrow waggle, along with the all-knowing smirk was enough to make the older brunette avoid looking across the table again.

Of course, all of this didn’t go unnoticed by the young queen at the head of the table, whose attention flickered between her smugger than normal sister and her pink cheeked southern friend. Whilst Sansa found Margaery blushing a pleasant sight, she didn’t appreciate the cause of it being her sister.

Though it was a rare occurrence, Sansa was well aware that she can be such a jealous creature.

“Do you need to excuse yourself, Arya?” Sansa asked as she set her wine filled goblet down heavily onto the table-top, startling the woman on her left.

“No, no I’m quite alright here…Your Grace.” Arya’s smirk only grew, which riled her sister further causing her to tense up and lean towards her. “You mock me.” Sansa hissed quietly through gritted teeth. What she wouldn’t give to have her mother’s ability to curb the younger Stark’s behaviour with only a look.

“I would never mock you, my Queen. You do seem awfully tense though, maybe Lady Margaery can help loosen…”

“Okay.” Margaery interrupted loudly. “I think that’s quite enough wine for me. Your Grace, if I may be excused.”

Clearing her throat quietly, Sansa eased her chair back as she got to her feet. Straightening out her leather bodice, before moving to stand beside the still seated Margaery and offering her hand out. “If you have no complaints Lady Tyrell, I’ll walk with you.”

Taking a moment to look between the offered hand and the poorly hidden embarrassment etched upon the young queens’ face, Margaery decided to ignore the snickering from the across the table and accepted Sansa’s hand, assisting her from her chair. “I’d like that your Grace.”

The exiting of the hall was quiet and swift, though the tension was soon gone once they were again alone in each other’s company. Reaching the junction of the corridor, Margaery was pleasantly surprised when Sansa continued to lead them both towards the guest quarters where Margaery had been staying, instead of splitting off the opposite way for her own chambers.

As they reached the door, Margaery put her hand against the frame and turned towards the younger woman. She tilted her head subtly towards the slowly opening door, silently asking for Sansa to join her inside.

In response Sansa pushed the door open further and gestured for Margaery to enter, before she too followed her inside, turning briefly to secure the door behind her. 

She then moved to where her friend was fidgeting, with a goblet in each hand, by the roaring flames of the fire.

“I recall you saying that you’d had enough wine.” Sansa joked as she accepted the offering and took a seat opposite the blazing hearth. 

Silence overcame them both as the settled into their shared seat and watched as the flames crackled and snapped within its confinement. What seemed like candle marks could only have been a few moments, when Sansa spoke again. “My sister seems to have grown quite fond of you.”

The timing couldn’t have been more unfortunate, as Margaery had been in the middle of swallowing her last sip of wine, which resulted in her choking as her surprise caused her to half inhale the liquid. 

“God’s are you alright?” Sansa fussed, reaching to give the brunette a few taps to her back. 

Choking eventually turned into laughing as Margaery managed to clear the wine from her lungs. Though the sudden turn of events baffled the young red head, she couldn’t help the smile that was starting to stretch across her face as she listened to the angelic laughter. 

“What amuses you so?”

“You believe your sister is fond of me? By the Sevens, if that is her showing fondness, I’d hate to see how she behaves towards those she dislikes.” The laughter tapered off, leaving Margaery a little flushed and more than a little breathless. 

Trying to catch her breath, she took a moment to look at the woman before her. “Was my Queen jealous?”

Taken aback, Sansa suddenly found herself having her own choking episode as she tried to formulate a response. “M-me, no. No, I wasn’t jealous, why would I. No.”

Just witnessing the fluster that the northern queen had worked herself into brought about great joy to Margaery and it certainly made a few things clearer…and this time she was sure that it was more than just her overly active imagination. 

“You know if you were jealous, even just a little bit, there would be no need for it. You are without question and by far my favourite Stark.” A boldness she hadn’t felt in such a long time quickly prickled within the young Tyrell, the old confidence she’d had since birth was sparking back to life just watching pale cheeks darken under her gaze.

“Now you’re just teasing me.” Whispered Sansa, her words almost lost to the noise of the fire.

There was a sadness that was attempting to settle upon the northern woman’s face, that prompted Margaery to move closer, reaching out to pull Sansa’s wringing hands into her own lap. “But what if I truly meant it, what then?” She asked.

With shy curiosity the red head turned slowly from the fire, eyes finally meeting open southern blues with her own frosty northern shade. “Do you? Mean it, I mean?”

Despite her returned confidence, a bit of nervousness still tickled the surface of Margaery’s skin, but she knew this was a now or never kind of moment and forced herself to take the leap. “Would you mind terribly if I did?”

“Not terribly, no. If you meant it of course.” Sansa replied bashfully, just barely keeping eye contact as she turned her flushed face away from the other woman’s penetrative gaze once again.

“Well then, with the gods old and new as my witness…I mean it. So very much so.” Slowly lifting a hand from where she still held Sansa’s in her lap, Margaery reached out and drew a finger along the curve of the other woman’s jaw, gentle turning her face back towards her own.

Margaery was certain they were about to jump several steps in the traditional idea of courtship, but she was also sure that if they waited any longer, she may die of wanting…or worse, miss her chance of feeling those full pink lips between her own.

Possibly having similar thoughts, Sansa seemed to throw all caution and care into the fierce northern winds as she darted forward, only stopping when her lips melded with Margaery’s own.

For moments after only the noise of the fire and the delicate sounds of lips parting and re-joining could be heard. Until Margaery pulled back reluctantly as the wide grin that covered the young queens face made it almost impossible for the kiss to continue. “Stop smiling, I haven’t finished kissing you yet.” Margaery playfully scolded, as she softly ran her thumb along the edge of Sansa’s kiss reddened bottom lip.

“I’m happy, I can’t help it.” Sansa replied, before giving the gliding thumb a quick kiss as it made another pass along her lip. 

Beaming in return, Margaery pushed forward again, regardless of it being a mess of lips and teeth clashing as they both smiled into the contact. A delighted sigh escaped her, feeling finally free and at peace. In that moment she knew, she’d give up several crowns and every title to her name if it meant this was where she’d end up. 

Because this, this feels like love.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far I'll assume it wasn't too horrific to read. I've been out of the game a while, struggling to write a paragraph, nevermind a short story. Just trying to dust off the cobwebs, any feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thank you.


End file.
